Britain is at Peace
by Blood Dark Sun
Summary: Grandpa Rome takes Chibiromano on a trip to visit Caesar in Britain. Rated T for language.
1. Britain is at Peace

_I'm taking a bit of liberty with their ages. Picture them both around 5 or 6._

…

**Britain is at Peace.**

Romano was seasick. Grandpa Rome was dragging him on this stupid trip to some freezing northern island which his favorite general, Julius Caesar, had been attempting to subjugate in the name of Rome for the last two years. Why him? Because he'd been bad, Romano was certain of it. This whole trip was a punishment for something bad he'd done, never mind that he couldn't think of what it might have been. He'd really been trying so hard to be a good boy like that idiot Veneziano…

Grandpa Rome had said the sea portion of the trip would be relatively short, but Romano was already cranky. He was seasick, and frightened of the strange new natives he might meet on this trip, and cold, and lonely. He lay in his cot, shivering weakly, and tried to make himself feel stronger. The young boy finally fell asleep for a little while, and that helped.

When they disembarked Grandpa Rome pulled a tiny soldier's sagum from a satchel and placed it tenderly on his grandson's shoulders. "There you go, _mio caro_, that will help keep you warm and dry in this foggy place." Romano tried not to sniffle at the unexpected gesture. Grandpa picked him up, set him on his broad, strong shoulders, and strode off towards Caesar's encampment.

Romano had been to Roman camps before with his grandfather; they were orderly, bustling loci of activity. Soldiers in Caesar's army were efficient both in camp and on the battlefield. Heads dipped respectfully as Grandpa Rome headed for Caesar's tent.

"Caesar, my young friend!" Grandpa's voice echoed through the large, but starkly furnished, tent. The famous general rose from his camp chair to clasp the elder nation's hand in relief.

"Ah, sir, I've been waiting eagerly for your arrival. And you've brought your grandson! How charming. Why don't we take a walk out in the forests? They're beautiful, and free of danger, now that our camp has been put up nearby. We'll have some quiet time to talk matters over. Does that suit you, little Roma?" Caesar asked with a smile.

Romano merely nodded. He would rather stay with Grandpa Rome, even if it meant walking around a stupid forest and listening to Caesar's dumb war talk, than to stay alone in a tent with strange soldiers around.

When they reached the forest's perimeter, Rome set his grandson down on the ground. "You may walk around if you like, _caro_. Caesar and I have war things to discuss, and I'm sure you won't want to listen. Just don't go too far. Are there wild animals to worry about?" he asked Caesar.

"Nothing but rabbits that we've seen in this area."

"There you see, rabbits won't hurt you. Will you be all right? Just call out to me if you need me, yes?"

Romano nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll stay close."

Rome smiled at his grandson and clapped Caesar on the shoulder, walking ahead. "Now, general, about this Cassivellaunus…" The voices faded as they pushed deeper into the forest with their grownup strides.

The forest was quite soothing, the boy had to admit after a few minutes of quiet observation. He heard just the barest bit of birdsong; cool and dark, the atmosphere was unlike anything he knew at home. There was an interesting scent in the air – some kind of forest plant, he guessed – and so he moved off, nose questing, to try and find its source, looking up into the shady canopy from time to time. It was mid-September, and many of the trees had lost their leaves, but the forest was still densely shaded.

Although young, Romano had the eye of an artist already, and he was pleased by the tiny flowers, the moss and mushrooms, fallen logs: a conjunction of unfamiliar woodsy images and scents that reassured and delighted him, which gave him courage to push on. A tiny bird flitted above him and actually made him laugh. Perhaps this trip wouldn't be so bad.

For lack of anything better to do, he followed the little bird as it hopped from branch to branch, forgetting Grandpa Rome's injunction to stay close. Once his sagum snagged on a tree branch, but it was easy to unhook. He crossed and recrossed a tiny stream, small enough for his short legs to span easily. This was a beautiful, peaceful place.

Eventually the bird led him into a little clearing, only about ten feet across, with a fallen log on one side and big mossy rocks around the edge. The log looked like a good place to sit and rest his legs, so he did.

Something wasn't right. Romano almost felt as though he was being watched. Slowly, unthreateningly, as he'd been taught, he swiveled his head to look first to the left, then to the right. Hmm, nothing.

Oh, wait. Caesar had said there were rabbits here. That must be it. There must have been a hidden rabbit looking at him. He relaxed again, kicking his heels against the log, daydreaming as he stared at the empty space between two big rocks opposite him. He idly wondered what kind of food Caesar served in camp. All this walking was making him hungry.

Romano's heart froze – then began thumping painfully – as he realized someone was standing in between the two rocks. He hadn't heard or seen a movement! It was as though the newcomer had simply faded into existence. As the other person was simply staring back at him, not moving, he began to calm down a little, and observed the new arrival quietly, tilting his head to the side as he looked.

The newcomer was a blond boy of about Romano's own age, with bright green eyes and a dirty green cape. The cape was much longer than a sagum; it reached nearly to the ground, covering the rest of the boy's attire. His hair and face were messy, dirty; there were leaves and burrs sticking to the cape and his hair, and the boy carried a bow – not like bows carried by horse archers, but slender, and slightly taller than the boy himself.

"Get out of my land," the blond boy hissed. "Take your soldiers and go back across the water."

The amber eyes grew wide. "I can't do that! I'm just little, they wouldn't listen to me." What a stupid kid, as if the great Caesar would leave Britain just because Romano told him to.

"I'll say it again. Get out." The blond drew his bow and nocked an arrow. "Otherwise I will shoot you. Your people are razing my land and terrifying my people, and all we want is to live quietly, alone on our island! Why can't your general see that? What does he hope to gain?"

Romano sat frozen, looking at the arrow being aimed at his head. He could feel the tears threatening to fall, and bowed his head in shame, knowing that Grandpa Rome would be disappointed in him.

"F-forgive me," he choked out. "Please don't shoot me. I'll – I'll go, I'll leave you alone now…but…there really is nothing I can do to change the mind of Caesar. He never listens to anyone…and no one ever listens to me, anyway." He stood up to leave.

There was no answer, and Romano looked up hesitantly to see the bow lowered, the arrow removed and put back into its quiver, all while the blond boy looked at him with an expression of sadness and understanding.

"Please forgive _me_," he said to the visitor. "I wouldn't actually have shot you. Come – sit back down and we can talk?" He walked over and extended a hand to the brunet. "I – I feel that way myself, sometimes…that nobody takes me seriously…maybe…we, we can be friends while you are here?"

He wasn't crying, but the expression on his face mirrored the pain in Romano's soul; he reached out his hand and clasped that of the blond. They looked into each other's eyes and both young faces smiled tentatively. Romano let go and wiped the tears from his eyes with the backs of his hands. "Hello."

"My name is England. I know you're the grandson of the 'great Rome,' but I don't know your name."

"You – you're a _nation_?" Romano answered, instead of introducing himself. Yes, he should have guessed from the way England had been talking. _My land, my people._ "You're Britain!" He stared at his new friend in wonder.

England nodded. "What's your name?"

"Italy Romano. I'm South Italy. You can just call me Romano," he offered. They shook hands; he cast around in his mind for a topic of conversation. "Your bow – it's a lot different from the bows I've seen. Bigger."

"It's a new one," England said with pride. "My old one was too little. I've been growing pretty steadily recently. Would you like to try it?"

Romano looked at the bow, astonished. "But I don't know how. I've never even seen a bow up close."

"I can show you. Here, come here." With a few deft maneuvers England had positioned him and the bow appropriately, showed him how to nock an arrow, and stood back to allow him a shot.

Romano let go of the arrow and it fell weakly to the forest floor about six inches in front of the bow. He bit his lip, feeling stupid.

"Don't worry, that's exactly how everybody starts out with a bow, even me. Come on, let's practice some more."

The two boys played with the bow and arrows for a little while, until Romano was at least able to shoot an arrow across the clearing. He was feeling mighty pleased with himself.

"How – how long will you be in Britain?" England asked him shyly, when they'd put the bow aside. He pulled a little leather pouch from under his long cape and drew forth an apple and some cheese to share.

"I don't know. Grandpa needs to talk to Caesar about some things. I'm not sure what. Some man – some Briton? – who is attacking Caesar. I don't know what they're planning to do about it, though."

"I really wish they'd just leave_. _I'm not strong enough yet to drive them out on my own, and your soldiers are so advanced…I don't even know why you'd want to conquer us, anyway." This last in a sour tone of voice.

"Don't say 'my' soldiers," Romano countered. "What Grandpa Rome does is nothing to do with me. He still treats me like a little kid."

England looked at him in amazement. "But you are a little kid!"

Romano grew instantly affronted, but then they both burst into laughter. Oh, it was fun to laugh with his new friend, different_…_he didn't have much chance to laugh, at home. Not like this.

Then they both heard men's voices approaching. "Caesar, and Grandpa. I probably have to go. Thank you for the apple, and for – for teaching me how to use a bow."

"Can you come back tomorrow?" England asked hopefully.

"I'll – I'll try. I'm not sure whether Grandpa will let me wander around on my own…since I'm such a _little kid."_ They shared a companionable smile.

"See if you can! I'll meet you here? I'm going to go before they get here, all right? Don't forget!" England stepped into the space between the two big rocks again, and as before, simply seemed to fade.

"_Caro_, you walked so far!" Grandpa Rome's voice boomed into the clearing and he stepped in to lift his grandson high. "You're getting to be such a big boy!"

Romano thought he heard a friendly chuckle behind him as he and his grandfather left the clearing with Caesar.

…

It was not difficult, after all, to get Grandpa to allow him to wander in the woods again. Romano had come to no harm yesterday, and in fact had been less morose than usual, so Grandpa was happy to allow him some time exploring. He took a satchel with a small skin of heavily-watered wine, some fresh rolls baked with rosemary, and a little vial of olive oil for dipping, and set off towards the clearing.

But he couldn't find it! He hadn't paid attention to his surroundings at all yesterday as he'd followed the little bird. Romano walked around in increasing anxiety, until he got angry and threw the satchel down on the ground. "Dammit," he swore. He didn't like to curse around Grandpa Rome, but had secretly been practicing in his room for months, face buried in a pillow to muffle the profanity.

A peal of laughter greeted his ears. "Don't swear, Romano!" England materialized from between two trees in front of him.

"How – but – this isn't –?"

"I'm sorry, did I shock you? Are you all right?" When Romano nodded, still rather astonished, England continued. "I've been following you for the last few minutes. I wanted to see if I could be stealthy enough to hide from you." He beamed. "Guess I did a good job, didn't I?"

"I – you – dammit," Romano spluttered, not able to think of any better way to express himself. But then he looked at England's happy, dirt-smudged face, and grinned in apology. "Thanks for finding me. I couldn't find the clearing, and I, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find you today." He blushed. "I brought some things to eat. Roman things."

England moved closer. "Not sure I want to eat Roman things."

"Fine. I'll eat it. You just sit there and be sad." Romano smirked and opened his satchel, drawing out the food.

But the scent of the rosemary was too much for England, and he begged for a roll. In exchange, he offered a bag of walnuts, which were new to his friend. The two ate (and sipped Romano's watered wine) in silence for a few minutes, until all the food was gone.

After they'd eaten, England led his new friend on a little hike around the woods. Several times rabbits came out to look at them, and once or twice a rabbit would approach and allow the island nation to pet it. Romano looked on timidly. "Would you like to pet one? If you're slow and careful around them, they will probably sit still for a minute or two."

The brunet's eyes grew wide. "Yes…I'd like to try." He walked very slowly, trying not to shuffle his feet through the crackly fallen leaves, until he reached England's side. The rabbit at his feet looked up at him, whiskers twitching, but did not flee. Romano crouched, keeping his eyes on the rabbit, and slowly extended a finger to pet the animal's head.

It was very soft. He could feel its pulse through the thin fur and skin atop its skull. "Oh," he breathed.

But that little movement as he spoke was enough to spook the rabbit, which turned and ran off. "Oh," he said again, this time with disappointment.

"Aren't they nice?" England asked. "Come on, let's walk, maybe we'll find some more."

They spent the day aimlessly wandering, exploring the forest, sharing thoughts and boyish plans. Romano spoke of his love of art; England of his desire to be a mighty warrior. A few times they stopped so Romano could practice shooting arrows, and once he managed such a good shot that the arrow actually stayed in the target – a fallen tree – after landing. He had never spent such a fun day in his life.

"I should probably get back, now," he said dubiously, as shadows began to lengthen. "Can you help me find my way back to camp?"

His friend nodded. "Same time tomorrow? I can meet you near the camp so you don't get lost."

"Sure." Romano grinned at him. "Bring some more walnuts, I liked them."

"Only if you bring some of that bread for me!"

"It's a deal." By this time England had led them back to the area nearest the camp. They shook hands solemnly and Romano walked back to Caesar's tent, and Grandpa.

…

"_Caro_, get a good night's sleep, all right? Tomorrow we're leaving."

"What?" Romano was so distressed by this sudden announcement that he sat bolt upright on the camp cot. "Leaving? Why?"

Grandpa Rome sighed, but smiled. "It's men's business, fortunes of war. Suffice it to say Caesar and I have decided that it is not provident to continue our explorations in Britain. He has concluded a peace, and under the terms of that peace, Roman forces will leave Britain as soon as possible."

Romano knew this would please his new friend, but of course he couldn't help but be sad that his time with England would be over, tomorrow. "May I have a few minutes in the forest before we leave tomorrow? And, and some rosemary bread?"

"Of course, _caro_," Grandpa chuckled. "We aren't leaving at first light, anyway. Get some sleep."

Romano tried, but instead he tossed and turned on his narrow cot all night long.

…

His heart ached as he walked into the forest and saw England's happy face waiting for him. The blond boy seemed to sense something was amiss, however, and dropped the hand he'd raised in friendly greeting. "What's wrong?"

"We – we're leaving today," Romano muttered.

"All of you?"

"Eventually. Grandpa and I are leaving today, but Caesar and the soldiers will be following soon."

"Oh."

The two spent a few moments in silence, Romano staring at the ground; England staring at the top of his head.

"Well, that's good news for Britain," the blond finally said.

"I – I don't want to go…it's so much fun to be with you, to have a friend."

England stepped forward, laying down his bow, and embraced him. Romano startled, but then returned the embrace. "I know," the blond said, low. "I don't want to be alone, either. But this is better for my people, and maybe someday we can be friends again? When we're bigger?" Romano, his head buried in his friend's shoulder, nodded fiercely. "Don't forget me," the island nation continued in a whisper, tightening his hug.

After a few more minutes of supporting each other, the young brunet drew himself up and stood back. He did not want his new friend to think of him as a weakling. He sniffed and tried to get a grip on his churning emotions. "I brought you some bread," he said, lifting the satchel.

"Thank you. I brought you some walnuts." England extended a lumpy little cloth bag. "Don't eat them all at once," he admonished. "They can make you sick if you do." The two boys stood looking at each other for another minute. "Goodbye, Italy Romano," the blond said decisively. "I hope we meet again soon."

Romano clasped his hand, but was overwhelmed again and flung himself into England's arms, dropping the bag of walnuts. "Take care of yourself, brave warrior."

"You too, beautiful artist." England squeezed him tightly.

Two tears finally escaped from Romano's eyes, and he blinked them away. "I really do have to go now," he finally said, drawing back. England nodded without speaking. His eyes were bright with unshed tears as well.

Romano picked up the fallen bag of walnuts and turned to go back to the camp. When he reached Grandpa Rome, who was standing near the camp's edge waiting for him, he turned back to look, and watched his dear friend raise a hand and fade into the trees.

"Come along, _mio caro_," Grandpa said. "Everything will be fine." He grinned at his grandson and lifted him up high, carrying him in his strong arms. "Nothing is forever – not even parting from a friend." Romano looked at his grandfather in astonishment, and then turned to wave wildly towards the forest in farewell.

…

_In the fall of 54 BC, Caesar and his forces did abruptly depart Britain en masse. Wouldn't it be nice to think this is why?_


	2. Italy is at Peace

**Italy is at Peace.**

**11th Century. **England wandered over to France, to show the frog his long hair, to get some styling help. He knew he'd be in for some derision from the older nation, who always looked so sleek and fashionable. England had been growing his hair out for months, and it looked like a blond bird's nest. Bloody hell. He squirmed as he sat in the tall grass.

Whenever he came to the mainland, the island nation thought about his friend Romano. It had been so many years since they'd seen each other – more than a thousand – and he often wondered whether that interlude had been merely a dream, a way for his then-youthful mind to explain away Julius Caesar's abrupt departure from Britain. He'd never quite figured out how to get in touch with the southern nation. For a long time he'd had little contact with the mainland, and after that, had been plunged into seemingly endless wars with France and others. England had continued to hear Romano's name from people every now and then, and so he knew there was a real person – a real nation – with that name. He always ended up concluding that their meeting had been real.

But how much of his memory was accurate, and how much was imaginative desire for a friend? England was still a lonely nation. Although he'd been getting bigger and stronger by himself, he wondered what it would be like to have a friend his own age now…someone he could rely on, not the bloody frog, who kept fighting and taunting him all the time. Not for the first time he wondered whether Romano ever remembered him, and whether he was growing into the artist he'd so ardently desired to be.

"_Merde_! Is that a giant golden caterpillar I see?"

…

**Late 1500s. **Once again England found his way to the frog's place. It was intensely irritating to have to socialize with him, but there really was no one else he could vent to. The skirmishes with Spain had been draining his treasury and his strength, and he wanted to relax and talk to Francy-pants about his opponent. Maybe get some insight into the Spaniard, if he could persuade the frog to talk about him.

"Spain is in a worse position than you, _Angleterre_," the older nation explained. "Not only has he to deal with you and your aggression, but he's also trying to keep control over Southern Italy."

England froze, but France didn't seem to notice. Spain was controlling Romano? Since when?

"That child is a ridiculous handful. I keep telling _mon cher_ _Espagne_ to let him go, to give him to Austria or someone, but Spain is stubborn. And so while he tries to fight you on the one hand, he is trying to keep his house in order, on the other."

"A child?" England asked, perplexed, fishing for information. "Surely the two Italies have been around since the time of the Roman Empire. They can't be that young." He was quite confused by this, and sought to keep France talking.

"_Mais oui, mon ami_, those Italies are so adorable…they have been under foreign control for so long that they have never really developed. Austria has the northern Italy, and Spain the southern, and they both complain to me that it is an endless drain on their patience and resources. The Italies have stagnated in their growth – they are probably about six years old?"

"Bloody hell." After some more desultory conversation about Spain's ineptitude, England managed to get away and went back home, dejected, his head full of distressing thoughts.

If Romano had stagnated at age six, that would mean there was almost a ten-year gap in their ages now. Even if England could rescue his friend, would it do any good? Would a six-year-old Romano want to befriend a teenaged England? (For that matter, could a teenaged England deal with a six-year-old child?) He sighed. And he certainly didn't want to plunge his country into yet another war just for the sake of his own personal gain. Perhaps it would be better to simply focus on harassing Spain when he could. If he could deal that nation enough of a blow, it might provoke him into giving up Romano, and give the younger nation a chance to mature on his own. Bollocks_._

…

**Early 1700s. **The War of the Spanish Succession had been going on for a short while, and England and the other Grand Allies were brutalizing the Two Crowns forces. He and the Holy Roman Empire met with France and Spain under a flag of truce. Spain had in particular been suffering, and had requested this discussion to facilitate a temporary cessation of hostilities while he and France regrouped.

Holy Rome, in his usual combative way, was not inclined to discuss a truce, and continually tried to bully England out of the discussions. However, England had something specific in mind. He met with the frog in secret and offered a temporary truce for three days…_if_ Spain would allow him to meet with Romano for a few hours. England felt that three days would not benefit Spain very much and didn't feel this truce would affect the outcome of the war. The Grand Allies were certain to win.

A day later – during which Spain and France took more heavy casualties – France arrived at the camp in secret, heavily disguised in a dirty brown cape, and said that although Spain had been infuriated at the offer, he had agreed. He was that desperate for the truce. They set the truce to begin at six the next morning and run for the following three days.

"Did – how did Romano react?" England asked. He worried for two reasons – one, he knew both Spain and Francy-pants would be wondering just what he wanted with Romano (and with France's inclinations, he knew those thoughts would be tending down an unsavory path), and two, did Romano remember him? Had Spain turned the boy against him? England had seen him in the far distance during some of the battles. While he looked older than the child from Caesar's era, he still looked pretty young. Well, if he was not interested in spending time with England, then England and Holy Rome would violate the truce, that's all. Ha, that would make Holy Rome very happy, very happy indeed.

"He doesn't know yet," France replied. "Spain and I will meet you with him on top of the hill outside Vigo, at six tomorrow morning. Please don't bring Holy Rome."

"I've no intention of doing so. Until tomorrow."

France slipped out of the camp unnoticed.

At five-thirty England rose and dressed, taking two soldiers with him as guards, to the hill outside Vigo. Spain, France and Romano stood on the hill, with a full complement of soldiers standing at rest. The two pirates nodded curtly at one another, mutual loathing narrowing their eyes.

England stared at Romano. Looking about eight years old, he hadn't changed much physically, but the expression on his face was that of a much older, much angrier child. Romano glared at him, and England felt his stomach sinking. Perhaps Holy Rome had been right, and they should not have capitulated, even for this short period of time…perhaps it was not worth it.

The two belligerents stood about thirty feet apart. After a moment, Spain bent down and whispered something to the child, who turned away in anger. Spain tried to embrace him, and Romano broke away, moving closer to France, who spoke loudly.

"_Mon cher_, you must do this for the sake of the soldiers. Go to him. He will not harm you; he will bring you safely back." France threw England a very dirty look – as though he did expect the island nation to harm Romano – but England had no eyes for the frog. He simply watched his young friend stalk over to him without meeting his eyes, then turn and face Spain and France.

"Fine, bastards," the child spat. "We'll be back when this is over." Romano turned and stomped off in the direction of the English forces. England nodded to France; he and his two soldiers followed his young friend.

They walked nearly all the way to the encampment before Romano emerged from his snit. He turned to look back – perhaps to see whether Spain could still see him at this distance – and, apparently satisfied, threw himself at England with a cry. "You bastard! Why didn't you ever come for me?"

His crying seriously dismayed England – but the island nation was also pleased that the ice had been broken so quickly. "Shh, don't cry, don't cry," he begged, dithering, and then finally picked the child up. "Please be quiet; we don't want to wake up the soldiers. Or Holy Rome. He doesn't know I wanted to see you. Come, we'll sit in the forest and talk?" Romano nodded tearfully and allowed himself to be carried off, snuggling into the crook of his friend's shoulder, sniffling.

When they reached a quiet place in the woods, the blond sat on a fallen log, his friend on his lap. "Do you want to sit next to me?"

The child shook his head. "Want to stay with you," he grumbled, face buried in England's chest. "Missed you."

Ah, England's heart was breaking. "Oh," he murmured, stroking the brown hair. "I've missed you too, I've –"

"Then why didn't you help me, you damned bastard! All these years you, you became a fucking _mighty warrior_, and I've been stuck with Spain, stuck being a damn little kid!" Romano punched him in the chest. It didn't hurt.

England fought not to laugh at his big talk, but then sighed. This had to be addressed now_._ "Romano. Listen to me." He tilted the boy's head to look into his eyes. Oh, those eyes he remembered, those eyes that had once looked at him with love and trust and were now looking at him with pain and betrayal. "I couldn't – I can not simply start a war with Spain for the purpose of rescuing you. That is not fair to the people who have to do the fighting. Nor would it be fair to Spain's people. You may hate Spain, but surely you wouldn't wish to hurt innocent people?"

The island nation was worried. Would these difficult concepts find a home in the troubled child's mind? Romano hugged him again, pressing his face into the front of his tunic. England tightened his arms around his friend supportively. "I did what I could," he added. "I'm still doing what I can. When there is a legitimate reason to go against Spain, I have thrown myself into it wholeheartedly. There's nothing I want more than to see you free to grow up, for us to be friends together again. And I know that someday you'll make it, and I'll be there for you. But my conscience won't let me destroy so many lives over a personal matter, no matter how much I care for you."

"Dammit," Romano muttered into his tunic. "I, I kind of understand."

"And then, if you passed from the control of Spain to my control, you wouldn't grow up, either. You need to break free of all oppression before you can start growing up."

"I _know_," the boy said in a small voice. "But still." He leaned against England's chest, relaxing a little. They sat in companionable silence for a little while, England rubbing comforting circles on his young friend's shoulders, making soothing noises, Romano manfully trying to get his sniffles under control.

"Are you – are you well?" the island nation finally dared ask. "Is he – taking care of you? Does he – hurt you?"

"No, he takes care of me; he doesn't hurt me, except in my – my heart, by not letting me go, by treating me like a baby. I mean, I get enough to eat, and shit like that."

Well, England couldn't help it, he chuckled at the boy's profanity and hugged him tightly again.

"What are you laughing at, bastard?"

"Your language, silly. It's pretty funny hearing you talk like this."

"Shut up." Romano punched him again, weakly, and that just made the island nation laugh a little more; the child smiled hesitantly up at his strong friend. "Hey, I want to ask you something, ba—England."

The blond appreciated the way he'd curbed his language. "Ask what you like; I'll try to answer."

"I – that bastard France said that you can do magic. Is that true?"

Oh dear. England hoped he wasn't going to ask him to win the war by magic. "Mostly nature magic, yes. You might remember, actually. How I used to appear and disappear in the forest?"

"That was magic?" The amber eyes grew wider. "I thought you were just really good at being sneaky!"

England smiled fondly at the memory. "Probably some of that, too, but – yes, it's magic. I can move myself between places in Britain fairly easily. Not on foreign soil, though. My powers are tied to the land."

"Oh! Is that why the rabbits came to you and not me? Can you show me some magic here?"

Aha, now Romano was acting like a normal child, which was good to see. "Hmm. Let's walk around the forest for a little while and I'll see what I can do. It might be difficult, here in Spain's land. It's very hostile to me." He stood up, setting his friend on the ground, and the half-nation took his hand as they walked around the forest.

After a few moments they came to a chestnut tree with a litter of fallen burrs. "Yes, this will have to do. Do you like chestnuts?"

"Well," Romano offered dubiously, "I like them roasted, but – ?"

"Take a look at this chestnut." England knelt down, peeled one from its husk, and showed it to the brunet carefully. "It looks like a chestnut, right? Round and smooth and dark reddish-brown?" He put the chestnut into the confused Romano's hand and closed the boy's fist over it. Then he put his larger, paler hands on top, folding the fingers around, and held it for a moment. "Open your hand," he directed, smiling again, removing his hands.

Romano looked at England first, still confused, and then turned to look down at his closed hand. Slowly, warily, he opened his small fist to find a wrinkly brown walnut. "Oh!" The astonished face he raised to the island nation made the magical effort worth it, even though England was drained a bit. "May I – may I keep it? Will it stay a walnut, or will it change back? This is amazing!"

"You may have it, of course. It shouldn't change back. Do you want to eat it?"

"N-no." Romano started to tear up, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his closed fist. "I want to keep it, to remind me of you, to help me grow stronger."

England hugged him. "You _will_ grow stronger someday. It may take a very long time – but it will happen. Keep your heart true to yourself, and you'll triumph someday. That's a day I'm looking forward to very much." He had an idea and held out his hand. "Let me see that walnut a minute."

Romano frowned but handed the walnut over. The island nation merely turned it in his hands a few times and handed it back to the boy, who gripped it in his small fist.

"I'm not going to cry anymore. I'm going to be strong and true. Maybe I can be a mighty warrior, too."

"Maybe so."

They sat by the chestnut tree for a little while, Romano cuddled on his friend's lap. England knew he'd have to get the boy back to France and Spain soon, but the relief he felt at reuniting with his friend was so overwhelming, he didn't want it to end just yet. They spent an hour or so talking about English developments, results of wars, the arts. Romano offered his still-childish opinions on these things in a haughty voice, which amused the island nation a great deal, though he tried not to show it. He didn't want to crush the boy's burgeoning trust.

"Have you become an artist yet?"

Romano laughed delightedly. "Are you some kind of idiot? Ever heard of the Renaissance?"

"Yes, all right, all right," England grumbled. "I just forgot, that's all."

"You forgot the Renaissance! You're such an _idiot_." The brunet's smile was wide and joyous, and he punched the island nation fondly. England laughed at himself, at Romano's childish glee, and for a while they discussed art developments of the Renaissance.

Eventually their time together was up. "We have to go now, my friend. I have to abide by the terms of the truce. If you stay with me too long, Spain may feel justified in attacking me to get you back."

"Pfft. He doesn't have the strength. That's why he agreed to turn me over to you for a while."

"Do you regret that he did so?" They stood up and began to walk out of the forest.

Romano looked up happily at his now-older friend. "No, of course not. I had to pretend I was pissed off, though; if they knew I wanted to talk to you they would never have let me come. I wanted to see how you'd changed. To tell you how pissed off at _you_ I was, you bastard."

England laughed. "Are you still 'pissed off'? Do you understand my reasons now?"

A short silence, then: "Yes. I understand and, and I kind of approve. It's good that you look out for your people so well."

"That's my Romano," England said, and swung his young friend up into his arms. "They will probably ask you whether I've divulged any tactical information."

"Yeah, like I'd tell _them_ anything." The half-nation smirked evilly, making his friend laugh.

"Well, be fair, there's nothing to tell. Come on, let's get you safely back. Got your walnut?" Romano raised a fist to show it safely clenched inside. "Be brave, my friend, and watch for me. All right? I'll keep doing what I can. You'll know, when you see things and hear them, that I'm working to help."

Romano nodded and pressed a childish kiss to England's cheek; then, blushing, he hugged the blond tightly all the way back to the meeting place. Neither of them saw Holy Rome watching from outside his tent; neither of them noticed his expression change from anger to tender understanding as they walked away.

…

**1915. **"Veneziano, I think we should join the Allied forces."

"Ve~! I don't want to get involved in a war, _fratello_. They're scary!"

"Dammit. We have to stand up for ourselves sometime! This war is going to be very big, and if we don't take part in it, we're just going to get carved up again afterwards. Is that what you want? We've only just barely gotten independent! I don't want to be someone's fiefdom again. Do you?"

"No, brother, I do not want that." Veneziano's face was troubled as he thought. "Yes, then, we should definitely join the Allies and not the scary Central Powers. Those guys are big and mean and bloodthirsty!"

"I agree. I'll talk to the 'powers that be' tomorrow. We need to stay safe, stay together, Veneziano."

"I know, _fratello_, ve. Let me know what I must do."

…

**1948. **Romano had often felt as though this day would never come. He'd held high hopes of meeting with England during the Great War, but their paths had never crossed. Optimistic about the post-war era, he and Veneziano had instead found themselves embroiled in the Fascist struggle for dominance. No sooner had they come to grips with that, than World War II had started, and stupid Veneziano had to go and ally them with fucking Germany, of all places. Dammit, his brother was a world-class idiot.

And then the war had ended and Italy had been plunged into internal strife. Well, there had been a few years of respite by this point, and Romano was damned if he was going to sit around on his ass and let another war come along to interrupt his plans. He knew that he was old enough, wise enough now, to come to his friend as an equal, not a child, and wanted to express that adult feeling. Romano dressed with care, in a civilian's suit; normally, he wore military clothing, but he did not want to evoke the recent antagonism between their two countries.

He looked at the walnut, debating. Sometimes he felt a bit silly for keeping it all these years, and then, at other times, he drew great comfort from that memory. Today, he decided it was comforting, and slipped it into his breast pocket.

After putting the finishing touches on his ensemble, Romano left the house and headed towards London. He wasn't exactly uncertain about his welcome (or was he?), but he still wanted to surprise his friend, so he hadn't contacted him yet. It always seemed so dramatic when he read of a scene like this, or saw it in a movie. So moving. And he wanted today to be a very important day in their lives.

About halfway there he almost lost his nerve. What if England was busy with something – someone? What if he didn't have time for Romano? Riding the ferry across the Channel, he bit all his elegantly-manicured nails to the quick, cursing himself for making the journey without checking first. But, well, he was committed to the ferry ride, at least; he couldn't expect the captain to turn the whole damn boat around just for him. If he landed, and still felt it was unwise, he'd just take the next ferry back.

When the boat docked, he disembarked and stood looking around the area. It looked interesting. Well, he would take a walk around this foreign port and see if he could get his jangling nerves in order, see if he could make a decision about whether to turn back or press forward.

As he wandered the city streets, he found himself studying not only the unfamiliar architecture, but also the faces of the people – England's people, those that he cared for so much. There were faces happy and sad, prosperous and unkempt, just like anywhere, he supposed, but there seemed to be something else – something good – underlying all their faces. Could it be England's strong love for his people? Ah, Romano did not want to turn around and go back to Italy. He needed to get to London, to the address that bastard France had given him, no matter what the outcome. The half-nation turned to walk back to the city center and find the train station.

There was a beautiful big tree outside the station, with elegant arched branches and many shades of green in its leaves. Romano stood looking at it for a moment and when he drew his eyes back down, saw his friend standing by the trunk, eyes bright, and an enormous delighted grin on his face.

They ran towards each other like the little children they'd once been, meeting to embrace tightly in the afternoon sun. "How – how did you find me?"

England laughed, a joyous clear peal that seemed to make the heavens ring. "I enchanted the walnut, Romano! So that if you ever brought it onto English soil, I'd know it, and would be able to come to you."

Romano rolled his eyes, but then gave England a brave smile. "Never again, dammit," was all he could manage to choke out, tightening his embrace. "I'm never going to lose you again."

"You'll never have to," England promised, stroking his hair. "Come on – let me take you home." The two of them joined hands and stepped forward together, into their bright new future.


End file.
